Perhaps it was nothing, she thought to herself. The echo of my voice bouncing off of some distant wall. But it wasn’t that. It was something else. Definitely something. She heard it again. Closer now. More distinct. Inteachán stood still and listened hard. She heard it again. Them. A succession of noises now. Gentle. Faint. Distant. Delicate but definite. Across the blur of the distance Inteachán now knew that the sound was a plop followed by a small splash.
BARNABY TAYLOR 